This July, I’ve woken with wisps. My dreaming seems intense with connections, but awake, the details disperse. Following the suggested dance lessons I’ve found in real life have led to off-kilter destinations and delightful discoveries.
This is a Balloon Flower. I don’t recall seeing these before, and I definitely did not plant them where they bloomed. (I have a map. I planted a bulb there in the late spring and a rhizome last year-neither of which emerged. Never have I ever planted a Balloon Flower anywhere.)
Centaury came up in a patch resembling a hand toss of seed, though I never bought those kinds. The skunk and I continue to come within close contact with each other without incident. Poison Ivy curling the milkweed was slowed from the barrier I put in the path this spring. Pears are heavy in the tree up the hill. Dragonflies have flown to me when I’ve felt unsure or uneasy. Below, Mother Nature orchestrated this candy something lily to stand alone in an area I haven’t even tossed an apple core.
I took on and completed my first “official” editing gig and am proud of the work. The author seemed pleased, which is fantastic – and she paid, which is important, but how I felt was a surprise, but I really enjoyed the idea of taking a good thing and making it even better. (I try to do that always and in everything, but this hit different.) Am I a Book Doctoring Editor now? Sure. If I decide to tackle your project. Contact me for preliminaries at TLSherwood01@gmail.com
We went to see Buddy Guy at Kleinhan’s and compared to when we saw him in Indiana – he was fired up! Lovely show, and yes, I wore polka dots.
Otherwise, I could bore you by saying how new information led to an unconfirmable experience in the forest while leaning against a red pine tree where it felt as though ancestors pushed me by my feet– as a blue blob – up into a basket, sleek and shining with silver bows, where I and other blue blobs reached an agreement to drop personal conflict enough to join into a solid blue form/entity/round sheet that quieted storms and screaming for a brief glorious moment or so, but eh, maybe I dreamt that.
Living by a creek means critters often stop by and these past few weeks a yellow striped swallowtail butterfly (or several) has flown up close to greet me nearly every time I have stepped outside. The meadow where there used to be lawn is awash with fireflies each night. Bats have flown at dusk just outside the kitchen window.
Of course it’s not all delight and wonder. For the privilege of watching hummingbird gestation, I’m on call for feeder filling and receive reprimands when the level is low – or Egads! – empty. I’ve not seen either of the two pregnant hummers at the feeder today – or if I did, I didn’t recognize them from a slimmer form. The last time I saw the green one, the egg was incredibly visible, so probably congratulations are in order somewhere in a tree in my yard.
The ticks have been plentiful, but so have the flowers. Again the Magnolia bloomed, something that took years. Two foxglove came up as well as a group of Sweet Williams in the back. The clematis and the rhododendron planted on either side of the pergola are doing well. The many, many gladiolas were dislodged because the skunk is convinced I bury skunk gold under any plant I place in the fenced-in garden area. I’m doing container gardening closer to the house this year so the plants are okay, the corms, not so much, but a few have sprouted.
I (finally) had a “goosh” toward writing again. I’d rearranged the biography bookcase which also holds poetry, plays, and short story collections and found a book I thought might be better grouped with King’s “On Writing” and Goldberg’s “Writing Down to the Bone.” I started to read it and was pulled into the “atmosphere” of Eudora Welty. And while reading, “One Writer’s Beginnings,” I went, “Aha, I see what you’re doing. I do…what I do. I want to study what you’re doing.” I doubt that explains what I’m getting at, but it was a glimmer after a lot of…indifference? Impatience? Irritation? with the entirety of literature for some time now. It felt hopeful. The musical and the possible novel still clunk about my head with heavy characters wanting to preach about things and I have no desire to spend any more time with them than you do so they aren’t being written. I’ve not jotted anything but notes since I read the first 13 pages of Welty’s memoir either, but I’m editing and that is something.
Because of how life shook out, I am going to two “big year” high school reunions this year. I went to one already. At the alumni dinner, the person sitting next to me was not only the class spokesman, but the guy I am never allowed to talk to. I did once. In art class. It was about borrowing titanium white paint. Afterwards, I was pushed into a wall in the girl’s bathroom and threatened with a class ring to my teeth if I ever spoke to him again. Good times – and the reunion was a fun way to remember that history, so yes, I will pour another Tune Infused Seltzer and drink until my brain latches on to something else to think about. I mean, I can’t wait for the next reunion, you know? Memory archeology is fascinating with its layers.
What are you up to? I hope your answer is staying hydrated and in the shade if not in AC. The heat dome over the country about to celebrate with fireworks and drinking is the perfect recipe for a lot of avoidable death and mutilation, so happy birthday ‘merica. You really need to grow up now. Act your age. Recognize patterns. Fix yourself. Rebalance those scales of justice. Recalibrate the three branches of government. You’re a mess, America and honestly, I’m a little ashamed of how you’ve been acting lately. You know better. Act like it.
I mentioned those preachy characters I don’t want to write, didn’t I? See how they are – slipping into my post like that. Tsk. I’ll go talk to them, you go refresh your drink. I hope you stay safe and as happy as possible – not only for the fourth, but until next time.
Thanks for stopping by and for the read! Cheers to you and yours.
Things will happen a certain way and I’ll wonder if other artists have the same thing happen to them. I don’t ask because I’ve read their posts and flashes, stories and poems that have already told me the answer. Yes, it all happens all the time. It comes in waves. Tons of work getting published, then long stretches of comma rearrangement; long stretches to work but no inspiration or drive, then a week jammed packed with movement and tableaus to explore and little time to jot a note or sketch an outline.
The week I had included going to the Hamburg Library to attend a Lissa Marie Redmond event on a Monday night. I ran into Mary Jean Zajac there. Hannah from Writing Club attended, too. On Tuesday, it was Writing Club and I was reminded how far I have to go with the rewrite in making the text clearer. (And doing that while trying to remember the altered plotlines is what someone older than myself would call a “hoot.”) Wednesday I spent time at a mall with a woman I used to spend days at the mall with frequently and had at least 4 story ideas come up that day. Thursday, I helped a poet without realizing it was a poet I was helping at the parking kiosk. It was at Buffalo State and I was there to read for Drop Hammer from the upcoming (now out) Endurance Issue of Elm Leaves Journal. Theresa Wyatt, Nancy McCabe, Carol Townsend, and Jean Thompson read too at the invitation of ELJ’s editor, Kim Chinquee. Thank you, Kim! It was lovely and she took us out after for a meal at Cornelia, the restaurant in the renovated AKG. Kim has two (TWO!) books coming out soon – Contact with the Wild and Octopus Arms – congratulations Kim!
Friday, I ran errands and took the dog to the park. Saturday, we went to Buffalo with Betty in the rain and added our fed-up-with-this-dog-e-shit-slash-and-burn-policy voices to the Hands-Off Protest. It was cold, wet, and miserable, but it will be just as awful in an El Salvadorian concentration camp, you know?
Later, Husband and I went to see JT and the Law at Still on the Hill and my muted phone kept buzzing. The message came in out of order – the enormity of it all still stuns me. A friend I almost lost in a motorcycle accident two decades ago was in a near miss from a stolen Tesla that nearly killed him and his two children as they were on their way to an El Paso Easter Egg Hunt. Weirder still is that his wife, who came a bit later, medically attended to the person who had nearly wiped out her whole family.
And that wasn’t even a full week of my April.
There is insurance paperwork piled up for me to read, reread, and attempt to understand. I was charged as a new patient when I was not and need to get that corrected before pulling out my hair. That right there is something to protest for – can you imagine? In other countries, healthcare is free – not for an insurance company to extract every penny in your pocket so they can have a profit and please their shareholders. Ffs, it’s people’s lives and those would be made healthier in an instant if universal healthcare – as found in most all other countries – came along and reduced everyone’s stress levels. But why would anyone in this administration care what would help anyone that isn’t them?
You see my dilemma – so much to write about, so behind on the minutia of daily life, so angry that the upcoming chaos could have been avoided. Plus, it’s criminal not to go out and acknowledge spring flowers like these while they are here, no?
Many thanks to you for stopping by and for the read. I cherish you in a weird way, but I think you already knew that because if you’re reading me, you’re probably a writer, too, so you know that kinship you feel when someone reads your words.
At the beginning of the year in a Nancy Stohlman class, I dreamed a few dreams and wrote them out as 10-year goals. Those were divided into smaller ones, which were divvied up further so I now have a printed out list of what needs to be done by quarter, with a monthly checklist of things to do in each. I’m happy to report it is going well despite my occasional forays into freak-outs when there are any curve balls thrown my way. For whatever reason, I respond well to lists. This new structure has also freed me of some of my worry, but not my anxiety. To ease that between acupuncture appointments, I’ve made the upper greenhouse whiter with paint and returned a few of the plants early from their usual summer hang out on the patio. Opening any window lets in the babble of the creek. Sometimes there’s a breeze. In the morning, the light is even more dazzling than this.
As with the past few summers, getting back to the labyrinth hasn’t happened as often as I would have preferred, so this space serves as a calming spot where I drink tea, eat apples, and lately, edit. I didn’t think this was where I’d be, but I embrace it. Having the year-end accomplishment list I made was a heavy lift because I aimed for acceptances with print. As of now, I have had work appear in two that I can already hold in my hand in June. Trust me, it’s extra thrilling because both include work from fellow writers I love and respect. Again and again and again, thank you Kim Chinquee for inclusion in Elm Leaves Journal’s Eclipse Issue and thank you to The Drevlow for accepting my piece for Issue 11 of Bull. (Look at those covers. I’d buy them even if I weren’t in them.) The year isn’t over, but with that spectacular success crossed off, I’m on to the next ones.
The book edit I did earlier this spring sat for weeks. I returned and have been correcting it at a line edit/add a red herring here/downplay this, but mention it hard enough to be memorable stage of editing. (And by the way, may I offer apologies to all my poor beta readers who read even part of this mess. Especially Chel! I am so sorry I didn’t know how to make it better in an earlier draft!) I did think this read through would have me patting myself on the back for the clever bits, and there were a few, but in this draft, it’s apparent it needs more fine-tuning and craft. (I read, learn more, and then take scissor blades to phrases I’ve refused to cut in previous drafts. Killing your darlings can be gruesome and brutal – especially when you set the cuttings on fire to warm your soul with their flame…but maybe that’s just me and my editing style.)
Anyway, the problem is that I have perfectionist tendencies and could spend the next thirty years on two sentences if I wanted to, but if I want to reach the goals on my list, I can’t. So while I’m not going fast, I’m striving for this version to be the good enough draft which will aid me in the next step, but I also want it to be over already. Last night I ran into another area I wanted to cut and paste into a better flow, but allowed myself to rest instead of delving into that messy spot when it was nearly midnight. Today, refreshed, I’m going to tackle other things. The weather of western New York decides the flow of which work is tackled and when. Besides writing, there is wood. I’ve been putting up what I split and stacked last year. As another row in the shed gets filled, I am happily in awe. All the time spent last year working on splitting is paying off and for that, I’m grateful. Though I itch to finish the book, I visit the white room and calmly remind myself there will be other days where I’ll want to stay in from the heat or days when it’s too rainy, and move on to the next task with less worry. A change in perspective helps, and sometimes you see chipmunks hanging upside down, too.
Besides the enormous help I feel I received from Nancy’s course, goals aren’t met without hard choices being made. There’s a meme without attribution I saw somewhere and I liked it so much I wrote it down to remind myself of its truth: Marriage is hard. Divorce is hard. Choose your hard. Obesity is hard. Being fit is hard. Choose your hard. Being in debt is hard. Being financially disciplined is hard. Choose your hard. Communicating is hard. Not communicating is hard. Choose your hard. Life will never be easy. It will be always be hard, but we can choose our hard. Pick wisely. ~Proper accreditation to be placed here if I ever find it.
Early on in our relationship, Husband and I decided to follow the cliché of saving for a rainy day which helped when the roof was damaged, and now, for this.
Of course the calculated time saved on working on the broken tractor has been transferred to wagon problems, but I’m focusing on the good parts, here. He can now mow the lawn and leave me out of that chore altogether so I have more time to edit and notice the beautiful surprises like a mountain laurel in bloom. I didn’t plant it, but I happily share this unexpected delight from Mother Nature. Isn’t it pretty?
I’m also happy to report Bertie graduated her first round of obedience course. Here’s our happy grad, just before eating her mortise board.
So yes, there is slow, steady, sloggy progress going on here. We’re making choices and enjoying the side benefits. After I post this, I’m going to pick fresh, ripe and sun warmed blackberries from bushes I transplanted last year to a more convenient spot, where happily, they took.
May all your goals be possible to reach and all your roots grow deep. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!
I thought March was spectacular and then April came around. Sure, I had another birthday, which is fine, I guess, but eh the “aging” bit could go. I did receive amazing gifts of love through words, deeds, FB posts, flowers, and even presents. Thank you all and here is the picture of the cake I honestly would have shared with you had you dropped in at the time:
The 5th had me in Buffalo for a workshop where I had the opportunity to reconnect with members of my old writing group that met in Hamburg at the Comfort Zone and pitched the novel I’m rewriting to an agent. She gave me her card and told me to query her when it was done, so in the parlance of that structure, it was a victory. I’d no more than spun around and it was time for the solar eclipse. We did it up in style.
Friends from Chicago arrived and we had dinner with them and the amazing Tuttle clan. Friday, the 12th, thankyouthankyou Kim Chinquee hosted the Elm Leaves Eclipse Launch where not only was I listed as special guest and ELJ Contributor on the posters, I read with her talented students, but also with Rachel L. Johnson and Justin Karcher. Seriously, if you know anything about the Buffalo Lit scene, you know reading with Justin is a Buffalo bucket list must do and I did it. Thank you to everyone who was a part of the launch! AND my niece Ashley showed up – as well as the couple from Chicago as a surprise, which it truly was, Thank you Robert and Theresa. Because of Kim, there are pictures of this incredible event. Thank you!
Thank you Kim also for another wondrous Drop Hammer. This month, it was Nancy McCabe. I’ve got her, “Can This Marriage Be Saved?” on my to be read pile. After she read from new work, there was discussion and food. Carol – and I’m sorry I don’t recall her last name – led us to a gallery in the AKG open to the public. Before and After Again, the current exhibit of artwork, prose, and poetry by the Buffalo-based Julia Bottoms, Tiffany Gaines, and Jillian Hanesworth is incredible. The depth of the portraits and the food images, as well as the prose and hope in the seeds – a truly moving tribute to those lost, but also to those who still live in the area of the Tops shooting and the tentacles of how food deserts compound misery.
I don’t know if any of that is right, art is subjective after all, and I really liked this lamp made by Henry.
That was another experience I was graced to experience. I’d gotten an acceptance at Litmora, which led to my trying to work that in at the launch, and there was an invitation by the editor to attend the Fredonia Literary Festival, and so I did. Completely interesting and fun, plus it turned out that both Henry and Tabi are from Springville. How cool is that? It’s even cooler because Tabi (moderator in the first pic) also has ties to the town where my grandmother lived.
I’m grateful to be here. Western NY is such a lovely spot filled with great souls and flash writers like Rina Fosati. When I went to visit her, I came across a free lawnmower that Husband is falling in love with more with each pull of the cord. I am blessed beyond measure and if you’re reading this, you are the part of the wonder in this universe. Thank you for being that.
Thank you for stopping by and for the read ❤ Enjoy your May!
Hi. According to my camera roll, for the past two weeks, I’ve only existed in the past. On Valentine’s Day, I took pictures of the three roses Husband brought home for me – without prompting or any sort of reminder – but didn’t post them. Before that? No pictures since the last blog post.
If I have been there, in the past, I’ve resurfaced in more ways than one. Floating on my back today, the wind and rain mimicked an ocean. I looked down at my feet and saw the swirly black sands of a place in the Adirondacks where I dared to go swimming – or at least I walked in up to my knees. W, Husband’s twin, in a blue cap, sat back near the trees. Husband stood between us on the dry rippled sand. I was back with Vonnie on a past perfect pre–Y2K February day at the Atlantic. Seashells near the pier were mostly shards. Walking alone for a stretch, I felt the surging power on my legs, the grip. I imagined other beaches, mostly tan, but some pink, some white, and then I think I worked on my chakras.
Anyway, I started a course of acupuncture when I could no longer carry the weight I had on my shoulders.
The first session, I was anxious and apprehensive, but so willing to try anything for relief that I was willing to pay in cash for it until the new insurance sent out a “wellness card.” [Why yes, I DID meditation and Pilates and Yoga and STOP. My body, my choices and it worked.]
Of course it could be a placebo effect, true, but I had listened to a segment of People’s Pharmacy on NPR where a – white, I assume – man had discovered this network of membranes connecting the organs and tissues that no one had ever noticed before (eye roll emoji) and had written a paper and was ready to go to a conference when he finally talked to somebody else and – surprise- the wise man said, “Yeah, that’s the chi. Been telling you nit wit westerners for how long? But sure, you discovered it.”
And then I heard that – what I assume was a white – man admit how damned dumb he – and countless others were by wasting research grant money all because they wouldn’t listen – or hear – or try to understand what acupuncture was all about. Boom. There. Click, click. The tension in my back was from a chi blockage. I knew it. My fear of needles fell away and I made an appointment.
Today was the fourth session, and the first on my back. (I asked for people with a larger bra size than mine about spending 50 minutes uncomfortably, and Dr. Cara assured me she has a pillowy solution, so don’t let that detour you.) The shoulder pain had nearly disappeared after the second session. I’m continuing to address other issues and I’m keeping notes on the experiences, but I do want to mention that a few hours after the first time, I felt an actual shift. It was brief and intense, but so real. As if to bolster the truth of the feeling, the universe rearranged people’s schedules so now I’m not going alone to the Writers Conference of Northern Appalachia. The Bitchy Cheerleaders – novel critique group of yore – are all going to be there – knock on wood and pray for good weather. So, that’s what is going on with me. I hope you’re doing this well, too. Thank you for stopping by and for the read. (Oh – and I hope to share things to read with you soon. I’m writing. I’m editing. I’m submitting. I’m all sorts of shiny happy for my beta rock goddess, Rina Fosati. I feel wonderful and really hope you do, too.) Cheers and good tidings!
Are you a bit edgy, excited but apprehensive, feeling yourself wanting to stand tall and say, “Let’s do this.” If so, it may be your season change alert signal going off. Loud little sucker, isn’t it?
Every year I replenish my notebooks and consider adding new desk supplies to my already adequate supply. It takes a long time to realize it isn’t the cost of the equipment, but the dedication to use that should weigh on investments. I have enough beautiful, lush, gorgeous to touch notebooks I never write in – the 70 page college rule notebooks are my go to.
As I sit here in my extremely stripped down office space, I consider the tweaks I want to make for my comfort – and pet interference reduction capabilities. I don’t recall the impetus for the tear down of all the notes, pictures, postcards that had surrounded me, but the lack of clutter now is noticeable and appreciated. Is it affecting my writing? Perhaps. I recently took an old 1600 word story down to 890 words and sent it out. Before that, I expanded a less than 500 flash into a ten-minute play.
I’m looking around and finding it a bit hard to believe I’m as organized as I am now. I really wanted it to be this way, and I made it come true. It’s teeny tiny moments of forcing myself to stop and appreciate how my hard work has paid off that make me say “Yes, but.” It’s the same feeling when I’ve written, published, or won something. “Yes, but.” It’s hard to be alive when nothing is good enough.
No matter. We’re all on our own journeys and apparently this is mine. I meant to take more pictures, but I did the whole scrape, scrub, scour, and paint with the beautiful parlor stove…
… and Husband assembled it in time for our shindig.
Thank you amazing people for stopping by. It made my whole soul happy to share the evening with you…
Adding to the abundance of those good things – my critique group exchanged emails this morning. So, as I’m saying goodbye to August, I want you to know that you are pretty great as is. Thank you for stopping by and for the read! You are awesome and you know it. Ciao!
Earlier today, I was complaining in my head about having to write this post. It’s not something to complain about, though. Only I keep up this monthly look at myself, my life, my career…recent pictures. I could quit at any time.
I don’t know if I could quit writing forever. Well yes, I could quit writing. Making up stories in my head? Probably not. Sometimes it’s like watching a movie of vague shapes and names. Inserting new relationships among characters. How do they all go together before writing a word. I was doing a bit of that today – seeing if any recent characters have meat.
I’ve hit upon the premise of a longer story – or book. Luckily, I’ve had ideas before and now know to kick them around before beginning on a premise alone and while I do, I’m looking at these new characters who’ve popped up in recent flash.
Contests spurred the output. I wonder if it’s a hold out from younger years. When summer is waning, get in as much fun stuff as you can, and dazzle on the first paper due when you go back to school – a combination of the two.
So, in August, this creature has taken up time:
Which made this one jealous:
And this one sad because there was NOT enough petting going on with two animals in this house so adding a third is – in his opinion – a bad move. He is waiting for us to rue.
Husband had a proper cake for his annual aging celebration – from the store – but look at the candle placement! I did that part! (There would be a picture of him, but they blurred and cropped in weird ways.)
There is a “change one thing – let’s do it all over” list of projects going on in this one picture. Oi!
Well, as always, there is editing to do, things to clean, flowers to smell, so I’m off to do all that.
Thank you for stopping by and for the read. Yes, I probably thought of you. Cheers!
This is the last day of the month and I’m just now starting this post. It’s not been a particularly great month. There was bad news, and then some more. Silly me for hoping 2021 would be any better than 2020.
Rolling my shoulders, taking a deep breath, I’ll state that I am grateful for Husband. New cat kept breaching the baby gate that was there to keep her out of the library where I read, write, Zoom and exercise.
Yes, I could – and did – shut the door, but in doing so, the temperature drops. The solution? French screen doors. (Proper knobs were chosen and installed yesterday but no photos were taken of those.)
I’ve been doing a lot of rewriting of the latest novel’s opening pages in response to books I’ve been reading lately. I broke down and bought Save the Cat! Writes A Novel by Jessica Brody, but Creating Character Arcs by K. M. Weiland was more insightful and easier to grasp. In the mix are The Complete Writer’s Guide to Heroes & Heroines by Tami D. Crowden, Caro LaFever, and Sue Viders a book I’d suggest to any storyteller and Scene & Structure by Jack M. Bickham, which is quite male oriented. I’m applying for fellowships and grants so Bev Browning’s Grant Writing for Dummies was dusted off, and since I’ll be querying again soon, Noah Lukeman’s The First Five Pages and Michael Hauge’s Selling Your Story in 60 Seconds are within easy reach. Spoiler alert: a lot of them contain the same information, but I’ve found that when and how you hear it makes a difference. Huge thanks to the esteemed Nina Fosati for her immense help and insight. Thanks also to Michael Parzymieso for his fresh eyes on the revision.
Tomorrow is the start of a new month. I’m hoping for brighter days and new growth. We were gifted an Aero Garden and pods for Christmas, so if new writing doesn’t grow, basil and chives will. Knock on wood.
As ever, thank you for stopping by and for the read. You are awesome, warmhearted, and witty! Cheers!
Christmas was the day I felt some of the pressure leave my shoulders. There was nothing I could do about packages not making it on time, I’d locally delivered all the holiday treats, I even let Husband make the bed with the sheets wrong and let it go instead of redoing it. Cards were sent, food prepped, and vaccine shots were starting for emergency personnel. Letting go of this year is a physical relief.
Not having anyone over this year meant I could put off any deep cleaning that otherwise would have gotten done. Before Christmas, I pulled all of the books from the L in the library with the bigger fiction and the physical/societal/spiritual/financial books. Those shelves were cleaned and readjusted. Nothing is where I can find it and I found a different TBR pile to mirror the one I have in other stacks upstairs.
Christmas morning was scrumptious with sausages, pancakes, and mimosas. Thank you again to Gina’s husband for his syrup. We finally finished the syrup our neighbor gave us and opened yours!
I want to give a shout out to everyone who sent us cards; they do mean a lot to receive. This is the door we place them on to admire. Once we take them down, I’ll be putting a poster I got for Christmas on there. Thank you Michael!
Husband made me this:
See, when I do Zoom, I had a stack of books to set the tablet on for the correct height. Now, I have this platform with a place for the keyboard, making it such an upgrade in ease – and let, face it, beauty.
I’m not a “New Year’s resolution” type of person, never have been, but this year is hitting differently. Had she lived, my mom would have turned 71 today. It’s weird to consider this since she passed away in 1997 at 47. I’ve outlived her by a few years. So has my sister. I didn’t get as much written, edited, or published this year and I’m kind of pissed at myself about that. I don’t need assurances, this isn’t a plea for pity, it’s a public acknowledgement of my personal feelings. Next year, I may publish less. Or more. I don’t know, but I’m cobbling together a list of goals I would like accomplish but I can’t make myself call them resolutions…not yet.
Thank you for stopping by and for the read. And on a deeply personal note, I doubt there are birthdays in the afterwards, but I hope my mom is having a happy day wherever she is. I miss her.
T. L. Sherwood 
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